


we will make love an art (and we will love like artists)

by snailseatingbroccoli



Category: Bridgerton (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe- Benedict has a daughter, Benedict can't draw hands, Benedict is a good dad, Benedict's bisexual awakening, Bisexual Benedict Bridgerton, Fluff, Lesbian Eloise Bridgerton, M/M, OC- Lilian Bridgerton, Sexual Content, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:47:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29344608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snailseatingbroccoli/pseuds/snailseatingbroccoli
Summary: "We will make love an art and we will love like artists." -Marianne WilliamsonBeing the second son has it's benefits.OrThe one where Benedict has a daughter, and Henry completes their perfect, dysfunctional family.***I did not intend to post this fic until I had finished it, but I simply could not wait to share it with you all. This pairing is my favourite, and I couldn't help but throw a child in the mix!Updates may be slow and irregular as I only have the first few chapters written so far. Rating may change.
Relationships: Benedict Bridgerton & Eloise Bridgerton, Benedict Bridgerton/Henry Granville, Henry Granville & Lucy Granville
Comments: 16
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm Eve!
> 
> I haven't fully figured out where this fic is going, but I just couldn't wait any longer to post it. I'm so excited to introduce you all to my OC Lilian Bridgerton, Benedict's daughter. (Benedict is widowed in this story so it's slightly AU.) This is my first fanfic so comments and criticism are very welcome, but please be nice. I hope you all enjoy!

Benedict stood in the doorway, watching as Lilian skipped through the grass, her auburn hair glowing golden in the morning sun. She giggled as Wilma the duck chased her across the lawn. He should draw this moment, he thought. He could fill a gallery with all the memories he'd drawn of Lilian. At first it was a way to hold himself together whilst she was at school and he was in the worst of his depression, but now he just wanted to preserve her childish joy forever. She was growing up far too quickly. Thankfully, she had a two month break from school, so he would get to spend every day with her for a while, and he wouldn't have to miss her one bit. 

"Lil, we must leave now," he called out to her. She pouted, but patted Wilma on the head and raced towards him nontheless.  
"We go to London now?" she asked, her voice rich and youthful.  
"Yes, darling," he replied. Truth be told, Benedict didn't want to go to London. He was starting to enjoy life again, with his dream house and his beautiful daughter and his favourite sister. Eloise had been staying with him and Lil ever since Eleanor passed. She had always intended to leave, but it quickly became clear that Benedict would really need her whilst he dealt with the depression that followed his wife's death. And when he finally started to get better, well, neither of them wanted to burst this perfect little bubble of country life that they'd built for themselves. But now it had come time for Daphne to marry, and so the whole family was set to return to London. 

*** 

It was chaos when they arrived in Grosvenor square, as it always was at the start of the season. Benedict stepped out of the carraige, placing Lil on his hip and took a shuddering breath to prepare himself for the chaos that was to come. He stepped into the familiar Bridgerton House and he was immediately swarmed by a mob of rambunctious siblings. Hyacinth squealed when she saw him, running to attatch herself to his waist, like a koala. He placed Lil down lightly and she was immediately scooped up and peppered with kisses by her grandmother. The greetings continued and to Benedict's surprise he found that he was glad to be back. 

*** 

"Must I attend mother?" Eloise asked hopefully as she looked down at her lilac dress with disdain. It was strange for Benedict to see her dressed like this, all frills and bows, worlds away from the loose trousers and white muslin shirts she preferred to wear back home in the country.  
"It is the first ball of the season Eloise, of course you must attend," replied his mother. Gregory, Hyacinth and Lilian were huddled in one corner playling make believe, while the older Bridgertons fussed around Daphne. She looked incredible in her pale blue dress with her hair twisted into an intricate updo, the picture of a lady. Anthony was nowhere to be found, probably off somewhere rendezvousing with his not-so-secret opera singer. 

Benedict walked over to the youngest Bridgertons and scooped his daughter up, holding her high in the air as she giggled excitedly.  
"Are you going to be good for the nanny?" he asked sternly.  
"Yes daddy," she said sweetly.  
"That's my perfect girl," he smiled, kissing her nose.  
"Down now daddy," she demanded cheekily, "I go play." Benedict laughed and gently placed her on her feet. She was only three years old but Benedict could already tell she was going to be stubborn and independent, just like her mother had been. He was not looking forward to the dreaded teenage years. 

Benedict's heart hurt to leave her, as it always did, but it was clear as day that she didn't care at all. She was too busy playing with the Hyacinth and Gregory to even say goodbye, and Benedict knew that he wouldn't be missed. In fact, she would be glad to spend some time with Rose, the nanny, whom it appeared she had taken a liking to. 

*** 

The ball was as Benedict expected it to be. It consisted of just as much pointless small talk and forced smiles as he remembered. But still, the music had been pleasant, the dances had been lively, the wine had been sweet and all in all, Benedict found he rather enjoyed the evening. 

***

When he returned home, Benedict found he couldn't sleep and so he took a stroll around the gardens, ending up by the swings where he found Eloise, smoking a cigarette.  
"Eloise Bridgerton," he said, smiling. "Fancy seeing you here."  
"Dear brother, can't a lady get a bit of peace and quiet to smoke around here?" she said in mock exasperation, taking a drag.  
"Got a spare one for me?" he asked. She passed him one wordlessly. They sat in companiable silence for a while, staring at the stars as they gently swayed on the swings. 

"Suppose I desire something different," she said softly.  
He looked over at her, searching her moonlit face. "How do you mean?"  
"Just different. I watch Daphne prepare for these balls, with all of those dresses and the many suitors, and I am exhausted. Suppose I want a different life, that I truly believe I am capable of something more, even when I am not allowed to have anyhing else."  
Benedict looked down at his hands, contemplating. "Then I would say... that you're not the only one." They looked at each other, the corners of their mouths quirking into smiles as an unspoken understanding passed between. They sat there a while longer, each lost in their thoughts. 

Benedict was expected to remarry, but he knew in his heart that it was not what he wanted. He was expected to find a nice woman, settle down, have a few more children, and raise Lilian to be married off as a respectable young woman. But what he longed for was to draw. His sketchbooks were locked away in his most secret hiding place, but they were his pride and joy. The battered leatherbound books were more a part of him than anything in his life, except for Lilian of course. Speaking of Lilian, what if he wanted more for her? What if he wanted her to be educated, to go to university, to pursue her passions? How could he settle for his daughter having a respectable life and a respectable husband and a brood of respectable children, when it was clear at only three years old that she was capable of so much more? Benedict huffed smoke out into the dark night frustratedly, before making his excuses and retiring to bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Tooth-rotting fluff. This is just me projecting my baby fever onto Benedict. 
> 
> Also a reminder that this fic will be quite slow burn.

The season continued much the same, with parties and balls and cuddles with Lil and midnight smokes with Eloise on the swings. Daphne seemed to have captured the interest of the Duke of Hastings, and everyone was terribly bothered about it, but for Benedict life went on as normal. It was at one such party where Benedict met Sir Henry Granville, or rather, insulted the man right to his face. 

"It's much too cold. Where's any sense of the subject's spirit? And the light! Given the quality, I do wonder why the piece was not skyed with the other daubs," he'd rattled on.  
"Perhaps we should like to ask the artist?" Lady Danbury had replied with a smirk.  
"That would be something, Lady Danbury," he'd said.  
She'd turned to her left, where a warm-faced man in a maroon suit stood. "Mm... Mr Granville, why was your piece not skied?"  
Benedict's mouth had fallen open. "Mr Granville, I-" he'd stumbled to backtrack.  
"If you can excuse me, I must find my wife," the man had simply said, smiling at Benedict. Benedict's face still flushed just thinking about the encounter. 

*** 

Benedict was finding lots of inspiration to draw, since coming to London. The change of pace in life left Benedict's fingers twitching with creativity, but somehow he could not get it to translate onto paper. Today's challenge was studies of hands, and his frustration was building. He just could not get the form to look right, no matter how many times he tried. He ripped the page out of his sketchbook and crumpled it grumpily. He felt utterly hopeless. 

*** 

That night, after tucking Lilian into bed, Benedict found himself out by the swings again. Eloise was already there, as she often was. He sat down on the empty swing and accepted the cigarette she passed to him.  
"I found bits of your sketchbook in the fireplace," she said.  
"Are you spying on me now?"  
She chuckled, "You'd actually have to be interesting for me to bother spying on you."  
"The drawings in that sketchbook were abominable. I could not stand to look at them."  
"I believe that is why they call it a sketchbook. I write in my diary, which is not the same as writing in my novel."  
Benedict smiled, chuckling lightly.  
"It must be so very difficult to want something and not be able to get it," she said sarcastically.  
"Eloise-"  
"If you enjoy drawing but need practice, then practice. Hire a drawing master. Find a young lady to act impressed. If you desire the sun and the moon, then all you have to do is go out and shoot at the sky. Some of us cannot. Look no further than Lady Whistledown, she possesses a huge talent for writing and yet she must hide away and publish under a false name," Eloise ranted passionately.  
"Yes, because if anyone knew who Lady Whistledown truly was, she'd be strung up for what she said."  
"That is not my point. Whistledown is a woman, therefore she has nothing and still she writes. You're a man, therefore you have everything. You're able to do whatever you want. So do it. Be bold. At least that way, I can live vicariously through you."  
"Eloise," Benedict said, pausing dramatically, "are you Lady Whistledown?" Eloise chuckled ironically. "You're an accomplished writer, always scribbling in that diary of yours. You certainly know everyone else's business. You have more opinions than anyone else I know in London. You would have my full support and admiration either way, sister. So... is it you?" he said.  
"No. Though if it were... do you honestly think that I'd admit it?" she teased. Benedict grinned. 

*** 

"Daddy, daddy, daddy!" Lilian woke Benedict up but bouncing excitedly on his bed. He groaned tiredly as his eyes adjusted to the light.  
"Morning Lil," he said grogilly.  
"Play," Lil said insistently, repeating the word over and over until Benedict started to drag himself out of bed. It seemed his daughter was eager for his company today.  
"What do you want to play?" he asked as he stood up, picking her up and carrying her through to the sitting room which adjourned his bedroom.  
"Horsey!" she exclaimed. Horsey was a game they'd invented a while back, which involved Benedict crawling around on his hand and knees, and Lilian sitting on his back, "riding" him like a horse. It wasn't the most dignified game for eight o'clock in the morning, but the pair laughed and giggled until they both needed a break and a cup of tea. 

"Cookies!" Lil exclaimed, clapping her hands.  
"You want cookies? I can ask cook to make you some," he asked.  
"No, daddy, make cookies. Me and daddy makes them."  
"Ohh," Benedict said, suddenly understanding. He was about to say no, when he realised, they had nothing better to do. Why not? Benedict scooped Lil up and placed her on his hip as he carried her down to the kitchens. 

"Sir! Why are you down here?" one of the servants asked, shocked, when she saw him. "You should have called us. How can I help you?"  
"Well, Lilian here wants to make cookies. Can you show us a space where we can bake? Somewhere out of the way, we wouldn't want to interfere with your work. Also, could you help us find the ingredients we need? I'm not sure I know my way around the pantry well enough."  
"Of course, that's not a problem, sir," she said eagerly, rushing to prepare things for them. 

Benedict weighed and whisked and stirred and baked whilst Lil stood next to him like a personal cheerleader, offering squeals and claps of encouragement, and asking one hundred questions about each step. While the cookies were in the oven, Benedict handed Lil the spoon and she eagerly licked the cookie dough off of it, somehow ending up with it smeared all over her face, even in her ear. Benedict looked around their workspace and took in the destruction. A layer of flour coated the counter, the floor, Benedict's shirt, Lilian's hair and just about every available surface. Benedict set about cleaning up. 

Ding! The timer went off and Benedict removed the tray of cookies from the oven.  
"Cookies, cookies, cookies!" Lil said eagerly, but Benedict had to crush her excitement.  
"No cookies until they cool, Lil," he said, lifting her up into his arms.  
"But cookies!" she squealed, tears welling in her eyes, and it seemed a tantrum was brewing. Clearly someone was in need of an afternoon nap.


	3. Chapter 3

The next time Benedict saw Sir Granville was at the club. 

Benedict was engrossed in some rather boring legal documents when Granville called out to him, "What do you think, Bridgerton?" He gestured to a painting on the wall, "This one more to your liking?"  
"Mr Granville, I-" Benedict stumbled, taking in the mans appearance. He was wearing a maroon suit once again, clearly that was his preferred attire (Benedict was rather partial to an emarald, or a deep blue), but his hair was different. The chocolate curls were loose and windswept, falling down onto his forehead.  
"Perhaps they should take it over to Somerset house, so it cab be skied right next to mine," the man continued, his kind eyes crinkling at the corners.  
"I believe I owe you an apology sir," Benedict said as his insides curled up and died with embarrassment.  
"Unnecessary," Granville smiled, "I actually quite enjoy the eloquent stings of your critique."  
Oh. Well that could have gone worse. Benedict hummed lightly, raising an eyebrow.  
"So?" Granville asked.  
Benedict turned to look at the painting. He considered it for a second before saying, "A touch morose for my tastes." Granville nodded before moving along to the next painting on the wall.  
"A tradgedy, the hound deserved better," smirked Benedict and Granville laughed, loudly and richly. Benedict found he rather liked that sound. He was intrigued by this man. There was something about him, his expressions, he way he carried himself that was just so real. He was raw, unfiltered and that was a rare thing to find in this social circle. His emotions were written on his face like ripples on a lake. But that didn't mean that there wasn't anything below the surface. He had depth, plenty of it from what Benedict could tell, and he didn't try to hide it. One simply had to dive in to find it. 

"Where is yours?" the man asked.  
"My?"  
"Your work. Are you to tell me you're not an artist yourself?"  
"Well, I- I suppose sometimes I like to... Well, I mean, I almost-" Benedict stumbled over his words, his face flushing. Could he really dare to call his childish scribblings art in front of this man?  
"I believe "yes" and "thank you" are the words you seek," Granville drawled. "But either way, you should come by my studio." He handed Benedict a small white card with an address on it. "The pieces I do for myself are there, and I think you'll find my real work far less, um... Oh, how did you put it? "Cold and lacking inner life"?  
Benedict winced, "Mm. I shall never live that down, shall I?" He chuckled lightly as Granville walked away. 

••• 

"Where are you going, daddy?" Lil asked as he tucked her into bed.  
"To visit a friend," he said, tucking her blue stuffed bear in next to her.  
"Sing please?" she asked, fighting to keep her eyes open as they drooped tiredly.  
"You are my sunshine  
My only sunshine  
You make me happy  
When skies are grey  
You'll never know dear  
How much I love you  
So please don't take my sunshine away"" he sang obliging, stroking her forehead softly. Her eyelids fluttered shut and when the final notes of the tune left his lips, he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, before tiptoeing out of the room. 

••• 

Benedict felt oddly nervous as he stood on the doorstep of the studio. Soon, the door opened to reveal Sir Granville standing in the brightly lit entryway, a glass of wine in his hand. A sliver of golden light spilled out into the dark street, illuminating Benedict's face.  
"Mr Bridgerton. Come in, come in."  
"Thank you," Benedict said as he stepped into the studio. 

He followed Granville along the corridor, coming to a halt at the entryway to what was clearly the main studio. He took in the scene before him, the ten easels arranged in a circle around the outisde of the room, two nude models displayed artfully in the middle. The artsits appeared to be a congregation of people from all walks of life, and flickering candle light illumanited the room, giving it a casual atmosphere. 

"I do not know what I was expecting, but it surely was not this," he said.  
"Oh, it is simply a gathering of like minded souls," replied Granville. "Here, let me show you what I have been working on. What do you think?"  
Benedict looked at the sketch on the canvas. It was a charcoal study of the two nude models, draped artfully with sheets and posed against a stone column. "It's a far cry from Somerset house, I must say."  
"I shall take that as a compliment," Granville chuckled.  
"And I must say, I'm truly jealous. Is this your life?" Benedict asked incredulously.  
"There are advantages to being the second born. Heirs have the responsibility. Second sons have the fun." Benedict smiled at that. Granvilles voice become slightly lower, more gravelly, and his tone became hushed, "Care to have some fun with me, Bridgerton?"  
Benedict took the question at face value, although it was clearly implying something more. At this moment, Benedict didn't care to think into it, didn't think he should. "I think I should like that," was all he said as he walked over to an empty easel. 

Benedict took his jacket and cravat off as he sat down. He stared at the blank page for a moment, fingers already tingline with eagerness to put charcoal to paper, before looking to the woman next to him. She offered him a drag of her cigarette and he took it, exhaling slowly.  
"I'm Lucille," she said, in a lilting French accent.  
"Benedict," he said, his eyes raking down her body, "pleasure to meet you."  
She took an inhale of her cigarette, chocolate eyes locked with his, before stalking over to him and leaning in close, blowing wisps of smoke into his mouth. They shared a hungry kiss -her lips were painfully soft- then returned to their respective canvases. No one even batted an eyelid, and Benedict found a certain freedom in the knowledge that these people did not care for what was respectable or proper. Each of them was unique, misfits, and they were quite happy to accept him into their world.

••• 

Benedict tended to lose track of time when he was working, and it seemed it had happened once again as he found himself and Granville to be the only ones left in the studio. 

"Hmm. You have great potential," said Granville, standing behind him, a cigar balanced in his fingertips.  
"It's nothing," he snapped, almost instinctually.  
"Though for such a staunch critic of others, you certainly lack a clear eye for your own work," replied the man, a faint hint of amusement colouring his words.  
"It's the lines. They're not what they're supposed to be," he said, frustrated. He'd been trying to perfect the hands for what felt like hours.  
"Take the compliment, Bridgerton," Henry drawled. "There is no expectation or judgement here.You left all of that back at Mayfair. You can feel free to be yourself here... whoever that may be. It's what works for me, at least. And I haven't been dissatisfied with my lines in... well, quite some time."  
"I've done worse, I suppose." 

Benedict realised how late it was then. "I seem to have enjoyed myself too much this evening," he said as he stood up, collecting his jacket from where it was hung over the back of his chair. "I should be on my way."  
"As you wish," Henry sighed. "But know you are welcome back any time, for practice, or even conversation. I'll see you out," he said, following Benedict to the front door. 

As Benedict walked home along the dark street, he couldn't help but think he rather enjoyed being the second son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! Please let me know how you're finding the story so far, and thank you all for reading <3


	4. Chapter 4

Benedict found himself back at Graville's studio a week later. 

"Bridgerton! I'm so glad you came," said Granville as he opened the door.  
"I dare not miss it," he said, taking in Granville's mused hair, half open shirt and oil stained fingers, "and please, call me Benedict."  
"Then you must call me Henry. Please, come in. Make yourself at home. I would show you around, but host duty calls," he said before disappearing into the crowd. Benedict watched him go. 

As he walked through the studio, Benedict took in the many guests in various states of undress. It seemed tonight was a very different affair to last time he had been here, Benedict noted. It was larger and much more scandalous, for one. 

In one room, two male nude models embraced each other, posing for the artists. Benedict stared a while, his eyes raking over their rippled abdomens, broad shoulders, harsh jawlines, dark eyes. There were no feminine curves in sight, and Benedict thought it should be rather interesting to draw the male body. 

"What are you doing here?" said a sultry voice behind him. Benedict turned to face the beautiful woman. Her eyes were dark and fierce, lined with black, and her hair was an intricate mess of braids. His eyes trailed down her body, taking in her sharp collarbones, the crease between her breasts, the curve of her waist. She was breathtaking.   
"Apologies, have we met?" he said, when his brain finally caught up.  
"We do not need to have met. You are a Bridgerton, are you not?" she said, lifting the cigar in her delicate fingers to her mouth. She wrapped her lips around it - god, those lips. They were possibly full and red, like she'd been making out with someone eight before this. She very well could have been, and strangely that thought caused heat to pool in Benedict's gut.   
Be cool, Benedict. "I see my reputation precedes me," he said, managing to sound fairly composed.   
She chuckled ironically, "Not exactly a virtue."  
"Well anything that gets me your attention is a good thing, I rather think," he said, stepping closer to her.  
"You should go home to your brother perhaps," she drawled, honey coloured eyes fixing Benedict with such heat and intent that he felt as if he would melt.  
"But I'm receiving far too warm a welcome here." He kissed her passionately, holding the back of her neck as she tangled her fingers in his hair and wrapped a slender thigh around his waist. 

Her tongue danced with his, attempting to take control if the kiss and Benedict let her. She tugged on his hair sharply, tilting his head back and moving her mouth to his jaw. She sucked for a while, scraping her teeth over the skin hard enough to leave a mark.   
"Let's find somewhere private," he whispered against her ear, making her gasp as he nipped at the lobe lightly. 

With her hand clasped in his, he lead them down the stairs. Reaching the final step, he opened the first door he stumbled upon and stopped abruptly at the sight of Henry entangled with some other man, his legs wrapped around his lovers waist. He moaned softly before looking up to meet Benedict's eyes, his pupils wide with arousal. The pair held eye contact for far longer than would be considered appropriate, not that any of this could be considered appropriate, and not that Benedict cared much anyway, before Henry went back to sucking on his lover's neck erotically. 

Benedict closed the door, his mind in a haze. He leant back against the wall, still trying to process what he'd just seen. 

"Bridgerton" the beautiful woman he had been tragically neglecting said, beckoned him over to a sofa, where she sat with another woman, who was equally as gorgeous, her body barely covered by a black robe. 

Benedict flopped down between them as their hands and mouths roamed over his body, hungrily, sensually, as they passed him between them like a plaything. God, that thought definitely should not have sent a rush of heat to Benedict's cock. 

*** 

Benedict returned home in the earlier hours of the morning, still relaxed and happy from a combination of the wine and the mindblowing sex. 

He tiptoed through the house, attempting to avoid anyone seeing him. Clearly he wasn't quiet enough, because Anthony came out of his study. 

"For God's sake Benedict, come in here before someone sees you," hissed Anthony, dragging him into the study.  
"I didn't expect anyone to be awake," Benedict said, flopping onto the sofa.  
"What on earth are you doing returning home at this time, looking like that?" Anthony said. He glared seriously, doing his best impression of their father, which wasn't a very good one.   
"Like you don't sneak out to go see your opera singer."  
Anthony's serious mask faltered. "How do you know about Siena?"  
"Ah so that's her name," Benedict smirked. "I'm not judging."  
"Whatever. At least I don't return home looking like I've spent the night doing things that would bring shame to the family name."  
"Well, that's exactly what I have been doing."  
"Now isn't the time for jokes Benedict," Anthony sighed exasperatedly. "You should go to bed, you'll have one hell of a hangover in the morning. Oh, and you should probably wear a high collar shirt tomorrow, it seems your lady friend has left a few marks."  
"Friends," Benedict corrected, before his brain caught up to his mouth, lifting his hand up to touch the rapidly darkening bruises.   
"God, Benedict," Anthony sighed exasperatedly. 

Benedict dragged himself up the stairs, flopping onto his bed. Only when he was halfway to sleep, unable to filter his thoughts through the exhaustion, did he let his mind stray to the image burned behind his eyelids of Henry pressed up against the wall, moaning softly at his lover's touch. Benedict knew it wasn't normal, wasn't right, but it hadn't looked wrong. Benedict was an artist, to him passion was beautiful, and Henry and his lover had certainly seemed passionate. Benedict drifted of into a fitful sleep, his dreams filled with images of both mens hands and womens hands on his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Benedict is finally having his bisexual awakening. I love the idea of Benedict as a bisexual mess and I think it's such a shame that the show didn't take that angle with him. But if they had, I wouldn't be writing this story lol. 
> 
> Please don't hate me for cutting the sex scene short! I'm not very experienced at writing smut but I may post the scene as a oneshot at a later date, if that's something you would be interested in.
> 
> As always, feel free to comment. I love hearing your thoughts on the story <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Sexual Content, Masturbation

In the coming days, Benedict couldn't stop thinking about what he had seen, despite the hustle and bustle of Daphne's wedding to the Duke. In his sleeping and waking hours, he could not prevent his thoughts from straying to Henry. Henry pressed up against a wall, Henry in bed with a man, Henry with a man's hand around his dick, Henry with Benedict's hand around his dick. Henry, Henry, Henry. 

Could it really be that Benedict had the same inclinations as Henry? Surely not, Benedict had indulged in intimacy with women on many occasion, in fact he had done so just two days ago. Still, people who were not that way inclined definitely did not spend this much time thinking about it, and Benedict could not deny the way those sinful thoughts echoed around his brain. 

To his surprise, he felt heat pooling in his low in his belly, his cock achingly and unexpectedly hard. He opened his shirt and unbuckled his slacks, brushing his fingers over his hipbone before letting them stray to where he so desperately wanted them. His firm fingers wrapped around his length and he pictured them attatched to a strong, toned forearm, the smooth curve of a broad shoulder, the delicious arch of a bared neck, a strong jawline, high cheekbones, dark, searching eyes, and pillowy, kiss-bitten lips. God, those lips. Benedict pictured them stretched wide around the head of his cock, glistening with saliva as a dark pink tongue flicked out to tease the slit cheekily, before sinking back down on his cock, long eyelashes fluttering shut as his mouth welcomed Benedict home. Benedict spat into his hand before hurriedly returning it to his dick, poorly recreating the sensation of a hot, wet mouth wrapped around him. Henry's hot, wet mouth. 

Benedict was so close, hand working himself furiously as his whole body tensed up, suspended just millimetres from the edge. He hesitated there for what felt like minutes, teetering on the edge, so close to going over, picturing Henry's honey coloured eyes stairing up at him through dark lashes, and suddenly he was coming, white ropes of come splattering over his abdomen as his whole body shuddered. 

He lay there, his sated body sinking into the mattress, breathes heaving and eyes drifting shut, unable to stay awake after a few fitful nights of sleep and a mind-blowing orgasm. 

*** 

Benedict blinked his eyes as he awoke, his aching muscles protesting as he slowly moved. He found himself to be laid on top of the blankets, disheveled clothing still half on and the accusing evidence of his actions the night previous dried on his skin. 

He groaned, stretching slowly before walking to the bathroom. Thank god for en suites. He observed his reflection in the orante mirror, fingers brushing against the cool glass as his eyes scanned his body, taking in his state of debauchery. Quiet shame seared through his veins like ice as he dampened the washcloth, scrubbing off the sweat, grime and come that clung to his skin, but unable to wash away the significance of what he'd done. Shame, uncertainty and fear pressed on his shoulders like a weight, but beneath that was a flicker of something else. Beneath the layers of respectability and responsibility, the shoulds and should nots of soceity, was an electric current of discovery, acceptance and, Benedict realised with a start, hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovelies, sorry this update took so long! What did we think of Benedict's fantasy? I have very little experience writing smut so this was pretty tame, but don't worry, there will be plenty more spicy scenes throughout the rest of this book. Please comment and let me know how you're finding this story so far x


End file.
